Sempre (Forever) (7 page)

Durante, on the other hand, with its slow pace and temptations of normalcy, intimidated her. She didn’t feel like a slave there, although she knew she was. And as nice as it was not to be treated badly, she wasn’t sure what to make of it all.

By the third day, she’d fallen into a routine. She cleaned during the day and cooked at night before hiding away until everyone was in their rooms. It was then that she’d slip downstairs and eat something in the dark dining room, before heading up to the library. Wandering around the room, her mind would drift as exhaustion took hold of her. She’d slink back to the bedroom and lay in bed, the music always starting up not long after. She wasn’t sure where it came from but the sound of it would put her to sleep, and she’d stay there until everyone was gone for the day.

While it was easier, there were little things that knocked her off kilter. The strong mint flavor of real toothpaste, hot bathing water, and eating with silverware were such small luxuries, but each one made her stumble a bit. She’d been deprived of things everyone else took for granted and adjusting was a slow process.

Wearing shoes made her feet hurt. She didn’t like them at all.

It was a few minutes past three on her third day in Durante when she encountered Dominic again. He came into the house and dropped a backpack on the floor before taking a seat in the family room to watch television. Haven considered fleeing upstairs, but the thought made her feel guilty. He’d been kind to her, even made her a sandwich.

She walked into the family room, nervously picking at her brittle fingernails. “Can I do something for you?”

Dominic shook his head. “I’m cool.”

“Please? There has to be something I can do for you.”

“I could always eat something, I guess.”

She smiled. “Eat what?”

“I don’t know. Surprise me.”

Haven headed for the kitchen and made a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich before grabbing a paper towel. She walked back into the family room, and Dominic took it. “You seriously didn’t have to do this.”

She averted her gaze, her voice quiet. “But you made me one…”

She went back to the kitchen before he could respond and wiped down the counters. A little while later, as she defrosted chicken for dinner, she spotted Dominic lugging his hamper downstairs. She stepped into the foyer, directly in his path. “Can I get that for you?”

He laughed. “You’re offering to do my laundry?”

“Yes.”

Dominic hesitated but let go of the hamper. Haven grabbed the handle and pulled it toward the laundry room. He followed, pausing in the doorway “I can take care of myself, you know.”

“I know. I didn’t mean to imply you couldn’t. It’s just that I like to stay busy, and it makes me anxious not to have anything to do.”

Dominic stared at her as she started a load of clothes. “Look, twinkle toes, I don’t know who you are, but you seem nice.”

She chimed in when he paused to take a breath. “I’m Haven.”

“Haven. The point is I make it a habit to stay out of my father’s, uh, dealings. It gives me plausible deniability, which means I have no idea what’s going on with this…” He waved his hands all around them. “…situation. The way I see it, you’re staying in my house, so it’s only right to be hospitable. So if I get you a sandwich, don’t feel like you have to bust your ass to make it up to me, because you don’t. It’s just a sandwich.”

She said nothing, but he was wrong. It wasn’t just a sandwich. It was much more than that to her.

“And I appreciate the offer to help with my laundry, because I hate washing clothes. Thanks, Haven. You’re a doll.”

He walked as she whispered, “No, thank you.”

Dinner was ready yet again at a quarter to seven, and Haven kept it warm as she folded Dominic’s clothes. The front door opened while she was in the laundry room, and she stepped out to greet Dr. DeMarco.

Was she supposed to? She wasn’t even sure.

“It smells terrific in here,” he said.

“Thank you, sir. The food is ready.”

“Great. Go ahead and place it all on the table. Carmine should be home from football practice in a few minutes.”

Her pulse quickened at the mention of Carmine. She hadn’t seen him since their awkward encounter in the library.

She set the table, placing the food in the center so they could serve themselves, before grabbing Dominic’s hamper and heading up the stairs. She made it to the second floor when the front door swung open, Carmine’s voice hitting her instantly. “
Cazzo
, what smells so good?”

She smiled and resumed walking, placing Dominic’s clothes outside his bedroom door before shutting herself away again to hide.

*  *  *  *

The next evening, Dr. DeMarco arrived home as Haven was looking for something to make for dinner. “I forgot to tell you. You have the night off from cooking.”

She closed the pantry door. “Okay.”

“It’s Friday, so the boys will be at the football game. I’ll be gone for the weekend on business.”

Confusion set in when she realized he was leaving for a few days. “Are you sure you don’t want me to make you something before you go?”

“I’m positive.” He reached out, and she flinched, but it didn’t discourage him from grasping her shoulder. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

She followed him into the family room, where he picked up a cordless telephone. “I had a phone installed in case you need anything when I’m away. Speed dial number one goes directly to my cell phone. If I don’t answer and it’s an emergency, speed dial number two is Dominic.”

“Is Carmine number three?” The words flew from her mouth before she had enough sense to restrain them.

“Yes, but I doubt you want to call it. Any trouble you encounter won’t be nearly as bad as the trouble that follows my youngest son. So if you need anything, call the first two.”

“Okay.” She stared at the phone. “How do I do that?”

Sighing, Dr. DeMarco gave some quick instructions on how to place a call. A flurry of thoughts hit her as she listened, but Dr. DeMarco cut them off. “I’ll know any time it’s used, so don’t get any bright ideas like calling 911.”

Her brow furrowed. “Who’s 911?”

He stared at her as if he thought she might be joking. “Let’s just say calling 911 is the last thing you want to do, child.”

Dr. DeMarco left, and those words ran through Haven’s mind as she wandered the house. She ended up back in the family room after a while, standing in front of the white telephone once again.

Picking it up, she turned it on like Dr. DeMarco had shown her. She hit the ‘9’ button before pressing the number ‘1’, her finger hovering over the ‘1’ again. She stood there for a moment, her heart pounding rapidly, before pressing the button to turn off the phone.

She did it three more times before placing the phone back into its cradle and leaving the family room, too frightened to press the last number.

The sun was setting by the time Haven ended up in the library again. She came across some paper and swiped a few pieces, finding a pencil before eagerly running to her room. She lay down in bed and started sketching, her mama’s face emerging on the paper. With no pictures, Haven was desperately afraid she’d forget what she looked like, afraid her memory would fade with time. She missed having someone to talk to, someone who could understand. She’d never felt as alone in her life as she did at that moment.

Drawing had come natural to Haven. When she was little, around the age of seven, her first mistress, Monica, gave her paper and crayons. It was the first time she’d given her anything, and it turned out to be the last, but it was a gift Haven cherished until the last crayon disappeared.

As she grew older, she’d sneak supplies from the ranch house, but afterward destroyed all evidence so no one would find out. She usually folded the sketches and stuck them in her pocket, burying the paper in the desert ground the first chance she got.

Haven lost track of time as she immersed herself in the drawing of her mama, and it was nearing midnight when the sound of music captured her attention. It was earlier than she’d heard it the other nights. Curious, she set the drawing aside and climbed out of bed, creeping toward the door.

Carmine sat in the library, holding a tan acoustic guitar. Darkness obstructed Haven’s view of his face, but the glow from the moonlight illuminated his hands as he plucked the strings.

She took a few steps forward, entranced as the music smoothed out and grew louder. It swirled all around her, goose bumps springing up as the melody seeped into her skin. Her stomach fluttered and limbs tingled, warmth spreading throughout her body. She closed her eyes, reveling in the foreign sensation, until the music stopped.

Haven’s eyes snapped back open, and she could see his face then, still partially encased in the shadows. He frowned, staring at her with questions in his eyes, but she had no answers to give.

Turning on her heel, Haven ran back into the room and closed the door, pressing her back against it as the music started up once more.

*  *  *  *

The next morning, Carmine woke up earlier than usual and grabbed a bowl of cereal, his footsteps faltering as he stepped into the family room. Dominic sat on the couch with a
Sports Illustrated
in his hands, and Haven was beside him, neither of them speaking. Baffled, he just stood there as his brother glanced in his direction. “What’s up, bro?”

Before he could utter a single word, Haven leapt to her feet and scurried from the room. Carmine watched her retreating form before taking the seat she’d vacated. “She acts like I’m diseased and she’s gonna catch something by coming near me.”

Dominic nodded. “I noticed.”

“I haven’t done anything.” He paused. “I don’t think, anyway.”

“You just don't realize how abrasive you come off,” Dominic said. “You don’t even have to say a word. It’s the way you look at people.”

Carmine shrugged. There wasn’t anything he could do about that. It was just the way he was. “Whatever. There’s obviously something wrong with her.”

“Have you taken the time to ask her what it might be?”

“Didn’t have a chance,” he said. “Like I said, she runs from me.”

“Well, maybe if you took an interest in her, she wouldn’t act so sketchy around you.”

“Is that what you did—took an interest?” Carmine asked. “I’m not sure Tess would be happy about that.”

Dominic shoved him, spilling some of his cereal. “I was nice to her, bro. You should try it sometime.”

Carmine brushed some of the stray Lucky Charms from his lap, glaring at the wet patch from where the milk had soaked into his pants. “Asshole.”

*  *  *  *

Vincent DeMarco was an easily recognized man. The people in Durante knew him as the talented doctor, the dedicated single father, the wealthy bachelor that women rigorously pursued. With his deep olive skin and chiseled features, he wasn’t hard to look at, either. Although he had accumulated a few wayward gray hairs, he appeared younger than his forty years. He was like his father in that way. Antonio DeMarco had died at fifty when he looked more like a youthful thirty-five.

Genetics, Vincent thought, was a peculiar thing.

Although he was well-known, very few people actually saw the man behind the mask. Vincent felt like he was living two vastly different lives, both equally real yet at odds with each other. He liked to believe he was that family man the others saw him as, but he knew he was also committed to a different type of family.

A family not bonded by genetics, instead forged by spilled blood and sworn oaths. LCN, the government called it, short for
La Cosa Nostra
, but it was known by many different names:
la famiglia
,
borgata
, outfit, syndicate. It all meant the same. The Mafia.

He’d taken a step back from the life years ago, moving away from Chicago and the center of the action, but there was no leaving the organization. Once it had you in its brutal grasp, you were indebted to it for life. He was kept on as an unofficial
consigliere
to the Don, Salvatore Capozzi. Vincent’s job was to play the middle-man for him, to give advice when asked and come when called, and he did so obediently, taking care of whatever needed to be handled. But just because he was good at what he did, didn’t mean he enjoyed doing it.

Vincent sat in the smoky den of the mansion in Lincoln Park, holding a full glass of scotch in his hand as he listened to the swarm of men debate business. There were nearly twenty of them, but Vincent wasn’t sure why half were there. They had no say in how things were run, some of them so new they hadn’t earned their buttons. There was no reason to trust them—no reason to confide in them—considering there was no blood on their hands.

Not to say he wanted them to be murderers. The opposite was true. He envied their clear consciences and wished he could warn them all to turn away. Get out, while they still could, because someday it would be too late… and that someday would probably end with a lengthy prison sentence.

Or a hollow-point bullet to the brain. Vincent hadn’t yet decided which outcome would be worse.

But he couldn't warn anyone. He'd sworn an oath to put the organization first, and if the organization wanted these dime-a-dozen thugs, then Vincent would deal with his ill feelings silently. He’d been initiated young—one of the youngest made men in history. Usually guys struggled for decades trying to prove themselves worthy before given the honor of joining the ranks, most never surviving long enough to see it happen. But not Vincent. He’d slipped right in the door while his father was in control.

He wasn’t the youngest to do business with them. Far from it. Kids are recruited fresh from high school, molded into vindictive soldiers to do the family’s bidding. The young ones take all the risk, while those at the top with their names on the books lavish in the fruits of their labor. Blood money. Hundreds had died to pay for the mansion they sat in that very moment.

“We cannot tolerate these things. They are savages.”